


i'm the last pretty girl (you're the last decent man)

by NicoleKrystina



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Deviation From Canon, F/M, Mild Smut, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleKrystina/pseuds/NicoleKrystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Olympians called her a man-eater. She hadn’t considered the sentiment to be true—not really. Now, as she watched him pound lightning bolts into shape, his bare arms gleaming with sweat and soot, she wanted. She amended her statement. As a rule, she wasn’t a man-eater. But him? She could eat him raw and savour every greedy bite.  Bethyl as Aphrodite x Hephaestus AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the last pretty girl (you're the last decent man)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters from the Walking Dead (if only) nor any of the characters from Greek lore. Sorry if I'm stepping on anyone's toes or if anything is inaccurate. I apologize if there are any mistakes!

The Olympians called her a man-eater. The humans called her a whore and a maiden in equal fare, but could her narrow-minded subjects really be considered accomplished judges of character? Hardly. They were human, and therefore fallible. They lived and they died, their opinions hardly mattering but for within their own small sphere of happenstance. The goddess shrugged them off easily enough.

  
The opinions of her peers, the gods, mattered slightly more, though not to make her believe that she should change her ways. Oh, no. The goddess of desire could never be chaste. That would never do. So she had her own special type of desires; who didn’t? The goddess liked sex, and men liked to give it to her. She didn’t consider exercising her sexual liberty to be a crime.

  
She hadn’t considered the man-eating sentiment to be true—not really. Now, as she watched him bend over the fire, pounding lightning bolts into shape, his bare arms gleaming with sweat and soot, she wanted. The flex and pull of his biceps enticed her, made her wonder what the steel of them would feel like as she writhed beneath him.

  
She amended her statement. As a rule, she wasn’t a man-eater. But him? She could eat him raw and savour every greedy bite.

  
She could have had any man she wanted, and she had. Adonis, with his golden looks, and Ares, lustful and bloodthirsty—they had failed her. Adonis had been too self-interested, too busy chasing his own pleasure to care much about hers. Ares had been too consumed with strife to expend the energy necessary to sate her.

  
But this man—Hephaestus, son of Zeus—intrigued her. She had heard that he was lame, the fall from Olympus maiming him beyond repair. The other Olympians considered him to be lesser, deformed and damaged; she saw a survivor, a marauder who was the son of the most powerful god of all.

  
It was difficult to describe him as anything other than glorious as she observed him from her perch on his workbench. She knew that the muscular curve of his back was scarred from the fall. He covered himself in onyx robes, but everyone knew what lay beneath. Aphrodite was no different, but for that the goddess of love wanted to feel the rough surface of his past wounds beneath her fingertips. She didn’t want to use the scars as a means of inflicting humiliation upon him, but rather pleasure.

  
He had let her linger in his workshop for weeks, paying her little to no mind as she did so. She had expected him to want her by now, and when he continued to deny her she was taken aback. It miffed her, that he could so easily ignore her while she pined. One never left the goddess of desire pining; it simply wasn’t done.

  
Humiliated anew, she stormed away in a whirl of ambrosia and golden thread. His indifference to her made her vengeful, spiteful. That day, Madea and Hippolytus became but two victims of her frustration, and Aphrodite couldn’t quite regret toying with the mortals.

  
Hephaestus, however, was furious. When she returned to his forge the next day, he crowded her against the fiery pit in a flurry of anger. She could feel the flames against her back, and though it was nothing compared to the force of his fury, if she dared take a step away from him, she would be burned.

  
“How could you?” he roared. “Those were innocent mortals! They’d done nothing to offend you.”

  
“My dear Hephaestus, of course you wouldn’t understand. Son of Zeus, you’ve never wanted for anything,” she crooned, her fingers stroking his jaw in a practiced sweep designed to unbalance.

  
His eyes seared hers beneath his fringe of dark hair, the blue of a lightning storm laced with silver, and he seized her delicate hand in his rough one. “What do you know about want? Every man that crosses your path desires you, showers you in tokens of affection. Mortals erect temples in your honour in hopes of finding true love. Surely you’re not lacking attention?”

  
Aphrodite laughed, smiling sardonically. “How sweet you are to think that you played no part in this. You’re just poor Hephaestus, rejected by Mommy and Daddy and left with only your own hand to keep you company when the nights get lonely.”

  
Hephaestus released her hand as if it had scalded him, recoiling from her as if she were an asp waiting to strike. “I had nothing to do with your desire to exact your vindictiveness on those who adore you, Aphrodite.”

  
“You don’t,” she murmured, not breathing. Aphrodite had never had to put herself on the line before, had never had to sacrifice her own pride for what she wanted. She didn’t like the feeling.

  
Striding forward, Hephaestus wrapped a fist around her tousled blonde hair and yanked her against him. She had heard of his temper, had wondered if he had been given divinity over fire for that reason alone. “How dare you come into my forge with your duel-edged affections and expect to be revered? I owe you nothing.”

  
Unafraid, she stepped ever closer. His breath puffed into her mouth, fanning over her face. Her wide blue eyes dared him to force her back, dared him to reveal that he feared her nearness.  


  
Up close, his face was more handsome than she had ever realized. She had never been so close, had never been able to examine him in detail. She had always known that he was attractive—she wouldn’t have lingered otherwise—but his face had always been turned away from her. She rather liked that he gave her his face now.

  
He had Zeus’ jaw and cheekbones, all rough edges and sharp lines. They were meant to intimidate, to threaten. Covered in grizzly stubble and paired with those deep-set eyes, he appeared dangerous and ever the wrathful immortal. What saved his face from being too austere to be aesthetically pleasing were his lips, so full and inviting amongst Zeus’ angles that they must be Hera’s. Aphrodite found herself staring at them, pulling her own bottom lip between her teeth in an effort to restrain herself from nibbling on his.The Olympians had ruled Hephaestus to be the least attractive among their ranks, but Aphrodite thought that their personalities made them far uglier than any of their notions about Hephaestus.

“No, you don’t owe me anything,” she agreed, smiling softly. “You do, however, owe yourself a chance to have something good here on Olympus. You don’t exactly have a long line of suitors vying for your time, Hephaestus, but I’m here. I’m here, and I want you and I may be a bitch or a slut but I’m all you’ve got. Go ahead. Call me heartless, tell me that I’m a monster and that I don’t deserve love or affection. It won’t be anything that I haven’t heard before. Just don’t deny the fact that any one of us would have done the same things that I did. Athena, Artemis, Apollo? They’re all just as vindictive as I am, and yet you never hear that they’re cruel or ruthless. They can do no wrong because they’re virtuous and courageous.”

  
Aphrodite paused her tirade for a moment as she wiped a few angry tears from the corners of her eyes. “I know that I’m not any of those things, and that maybe all I have to offer you is what’s between my legs, but I accept that. I don’t have a bow or sarissa with which to prove myself to you, or poetry and music to keep you entertained, but I’ll give you what I do have. Sex and seduction may be the only weapons in my arsenal, but I’m damn good at using them. I’m sorry about those humans. I never intended to harm them. I just needed you to see me.”

  
His hand, still entwined in her golden locks, loosened its grip before falling to his side once again. His eyes were softer now, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheekbones as he looked down at her. She hadn’t noticed that he was a head taller than her—she had been too busy shredding herself to bits on his altar to notice something so trivial—but now she appreciated how he towered over her.

  
“I’ve always seen you,” he muttered, and if she hadn’t been so close she would have missed the sentiment. His eyes ducked from hers, the crests of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears turning pink with embarrassment. “Just needed to make sure you weren’t going to…”

  
Aphrodite tilted his chin up to see into his face, meeting his eyes through the fan of his lashes. A rush of warmth filled her stomach as she was met with a quiet vulnerability, something she would have noticed if she hadn’t been so consumed with herself. “To hurt you?”

  
His only acknowledgement of her statement was an affirmative jerk of his head, but that was enough for her. Rising on her toes in her golden sandals, she took his face between her palms. Cautiously, like she would approach a skittish horse, she leaned into his chest and tilted her face to his.

  
The kiss was a whisper, the brush of her mouth against his as gentle as she could manage. Just as swiftly, she pulled back, assessing his face for any sign that she had stepped over a line. She found none. “I’m not your parents, Hephaestus. I’m here because I want to be, because I genuinely enjoy being around you.”

  
She watched as his eyes trained on her mouth, his face still held in her hands. They flickered back to hers after a moment, and that was the only warning she was given before his mouth descended on hers once again.

  
His kiss wasn’t skillful like the ones she had experience with other lovers, but it was warm and fervent and she found that she didn’t need the extra finesse. His mouth slanted over hers as if he had never experienced anything like it, and would never again find such treasures. Her hands slid into his hair to pull him closer, trying to tease more from him, give him more in return.

  
Hephaestus was a quick study, and she swiftly found herself with her knees hitched around his hips as he commandeered them into his bedchambers. Aphrodite would have argued with anyone who said he was lame as he carried her through the doorway, because she certainly didn’t see any flaws in his strength or mobility. In Aphrodite’s mind, one didn’t need to walk while tangled in sex-scented sheets, so it became a moot point anyway.

  
He fumbled while undressing her, and she became even more enamoured with him as she closed her fingers over his to help him loosen her gown. He clearly bedded women infrequently, and she couldn’t help but take selfish satisfaction in being one of the lucky few who did find themselves in his bed.

  
As the evening progressed, Aphrodite decided that he wasn’t a prodigal lover. Just as quickly, however, she determined that he didn’t need to be. He spent a lot of time learning her, discovering what she liked and what was good for her, and he learned quickly. She had never had a man that was more eager to please her, more singularly focused on giving her pleasure, than the man whose bed she shared at that moment. It seemed as if he had limitless energy when it came to exploring her, and he soon had her gasping and clutching the sheets more often than she could count. She didn’t mind showing him where to touch, how to tease and stoke her, when she found his elated smile when he made her see stars to be the most adorable thing she had ever seen.

  
Aphrodite fed off of his energy and enthusiasm, and she found great excitement and joy in finding the places on his body that made him growl in pleasure. He shivered when she stroked a hand over his bare back but didn’t pull away, and Aphrodite took that as a sign of his trust in her. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

  
Much later, when she had spent herself for what she imagined must have been the tenth time, she rolled off of his hips and nestled against his side. His heart raced beneath her ear, and she loved the staccato beat of its rhythm. She lay there in silence for a few minutes before she spoke. “Are you alright?”

  
He stroked a hand up her spine, goosebumps rising on her skin in response to the stimulation. He seemed to consider his answer for a moment, his eyes narrowed into sleepy slits.

  
Without warning, he flipped them over, maneuvering his hips so that they were once again between her thighs. Before he kissed her again, he murmured a single word. “Again.”


End file.
